


The Photographer and Editor-in-Chief

by TheAllAmericanGirl



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fashion & Models, Alternate Universe - Human, Androgyny, FACE Family, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Photography, Romance, face comes much later
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-03
Updated: 2017-08-14
Packaged: 2018-10-14 13:29:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10537461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAllAmericanGirl/pseuds/TheAllAmericanGirl
Summary: Arthur Kirkland, a recent photography grad of Parsons School of Design with no job opportunities, is forced to return home to England. There, he is reached out to by the famous Jumeau Fashion Magazine for a photoshoot, direct orders from their editor-in-chief. At the photo shoot, he meets beautiful model Francis Bonnefoy, and the two become smitten. As their relationship progresses, Arthur finds more about Francis and falls even more in love, but does Arthur really have what it takes to be apart of Francis' romantic, luxurious world?





	1. Changes

Arthur had no idea where his life was taking him. Sure, he graduated top in his class from Parsons at The New School. He had a ton of followers on his photography Instagram, and people always commented on how much they enjoyed his work. It was all great and all, but he never landed any gigs or, when he did, the pay was crap and he was never called back to be a permanent photographer. 

 

All in all, being a poor college student living in New York City is hard. 

 

He had another failed interview at a small web company when the prim-and-proper lady took one glance at his résumé and said, “You don’t have enough experience to work with us. I’m sorry.” He wanted to punch the faux sympathetic smile right off her face. Like he wanted to work at a crappy startup that was bound to go under within the next few months, anyway.

 

This was how Arthur found himself returning home to his cramped, dingy apartment in a sketchy NYC neighborhood, shoulders slouched and tie loosely dangling around his neck. The building was so old and run down there’s no elevator, so Arthur was forced to take the stairs even though his feet were aching. He was unsurprised when he finally reached his door that it was slight ajar. His daft roommate had left it open again. He sighed and swung the door open. “Feliciano, I told you not to— Oh dear Lord.”

 

Arthur interrupted a rather steamy make-out session his roommate was currently involved in with his German boyfriend. The two broke apart, the boyfriend, Ludwig, having the decency to have a red face and look ashamed. Feliciano only smiled up at Arthur. “Oh, Arthur! I didn’t hear the door unlock!”

 

“Because you left it open. Again, might I add.” He would have been more embarrassed to walk in on an intimate scene, but compared to a previous incident, where ropes and handcuffs had been involved, a make-out session was PG. 

 

“Sorry, sorry, won’t happen again!” Feliciano promised, but Arthur waved it aside; he heard it last time. 

 

With a wave to the couple, Arthur walked into his room and shut the door. He threw his briefcase on his bed and flopped down next to it. He lazily pulled his phone out of his pocket and scrolled through the contacts. He pressed call on the familiar contact and put the phone to his ear.

 

“Mum?”

 

“Didn’t go so well, did it?” His mother responded, voice almost giddy at the possibility of the interview being disastrous.

 

“Don’t jump to conclusions!” Arthur screeched, pinching his nose at the oncoming wave of frustration he felt. “…Yes, it didn’t go well.”

 

“Do you still plan on coming home?” Mrs. Kirkland rambled, her tone hopeful, “Those American companies just don’t appreciate your talent, love. I know you’ll find a decent job here—and save money by living back under mummy’s roof! I know you’re using the last of your savings, dear.”

 

Arthur hated that his mother was right. His savings were dangerously low—he’s been living off ramen and tap water, for crying aloud. He’s had to go as far as stealing tea from hotel lobbies just to get his fix. Pathetic. It’s not even good tea. Cheap, off-market products at best. A happy hum from his mom snapped him out of his thoughts. “…Yeah, mum, I’ll just need to give Feliciano my notice.” 

 

With that, he wished his mother farewell and hung up. He knew Feliciano had been planning on moving into Ludwig’s much nicer apartment, and it was also closer to where Feli’s snippy brother lived with his boyfriend. Really, Arthur told himself, the timing to go back home is perfect. He couldn’t even believe how unconvinced he sounded.

 

He exited his bedroom, calling Feliciano over to tell him the news.

 

\--

 

Arthur finished up his month’s rent and by the end of it all, he had managed to sell all his furniture and land one more pathetic gig to scrape up enough money for the ticket home. He knew his mother would’ve gladly bought the ticket for him, but he liked to think he could at least manage that task on his own. Feliciano had cried when they parted their ways, telling Arthur to please visit next time he was in town. Arthur had to admit he’d miss Feli; he was a good roommate despite the constant public affection the Italian had with his boyfriend. Arthur supposed that Feli’s cooking skills made up for any flaw the boy had. In conclusion, Arthur was sad he had to return to England. Like those Alicia Keys lyrics in that song, “if I can make it here, I can make it anywhere”. In a rut of self-loathing, Arthur figured the concrete jungle was just too much for him. He was stuck being the stereotypical poor artist pretending life is great through his Instagram posts than the movie artist who lands a great gig and is drinking champagne with the likes of them. 

 

On his better days, Arthur was grateful to go home to England and see his mom, even if it meant facing torment from his siblings, who lived close to home. All of them had found work, even Allister, the biggest arse of them all, got married right before Arthur had gone to school and had a two-year-old daughter.

 

On the plane to England, Arthur found himself in a rather rare optimistic mood. London and even Paris had plenty of artists roaming the streets. Tons of opportunity for work! Plus, he got to live rent-free and eat homemade meals. Any twenty-three-year-old would be stupid to give up this opportunity. Once he landed in London City Airport, Arthur grabbed his suitcases and headed for the exit. Allister had been the one to offer to pick Arthur up from the airport, and Arthur knew it was because Allister is always eager to get the first jabs at his brother’s failures in.

 

“Oi, eyebrows, over here!” Allister called, holding a hand-made sign unintelligible toddler scribble on it. Arthur could see it was meant to say something along his name, as there was a stick figure man under the scribbles with huge eyebrows above green eyes. 

 

“Really, must you still insist on calling me that?” Arthur grumbled, dodging his brother’s attempt to give him a noogie. Honestly, at thirty-three-years-old, one would imagine Allister would be more mature. “I’ve learned to pluck my eyebrows, mind you. You’ll notice they’re quite slim.” 

 

Allister snorted. “Still look bushy to me, Art.” He held out the sign. “Azalea made this for you. Why she’s so taken with you beats me.” He rambled in his more-Scottish accent. The boys have different fathers, and Allister spent most of his childhood with his dad, until he decided to run away from home and landed at his mother’s front door, where he was welcomed with open arms. The accent stuck, Arthur supposed. 

 

“She’s a smart girl and realizes I’m not an arse, unlike you.” Arthur took the picture and carefully tucked it away in his suitcase.

 

“Whatever, let’s get going. I know mum is dying to see you.”

 

\--

 

The car ride went as well as Arthur had pictured it—it sucked. Allister kept berating Arthur for how much of a failure he was to have had to come back home. In the back of Arthur’s mind, he knew he deserved it. He talked a lot of game when he was off to Parsons, being the only Kirkland to actually go to university, and in the United States at that. He didn’t, however, give in to Allister’s crap and stood up for himself like the strong, proud Englishman that he is, even if his ego shriveled up and stayed behind at the airport.

 

Allister dropped him off, but not before he told Arthur that he and the rest of the Kirkland clan would be back for dinner upon their mother’s request. “First family dinner in a while, everyone is required to come!” Had been her warning. Arthur gave Allister a teddy bear that said “I ❤ NY” on its tummy, after explaining that “No, it’s not for you, Allister, it’s for Lea!” and watched his brother drive off before he finally turned his attention to the house.

 

Brightly colored and squished between other box-shaped houses, Arthur couldn’t help but notice with warm-feeling filling his heart that his mother hadn’t let the rose bushes Arthur tended to so much for when he was home die. Arthur, though a handful as a teenager, had put his heart and soul into the roses. He was determined to make their boring home different, and he knew his mom didn’t have the time or energy to put into making the house look decent, as she worked two jobs to keep food on the table for Arthur and his siblings. He remembered how his mom nearly cried when rose season came and their shabby house was lit up with beautiful roses of nearly every color. Even the neighbors complimented how up-class their home looked, and some had paid Arthur to tend to their dead gardens as well. That money allowed him to buy his first decent camera at a second-hand shop. 

 

Shaking his head at the fond memory, Arthur rolled his suitcase up the cement walk way and knocked on the door. His mother answered almost immediately.

 

“Oh, darling! I saw you just standing out there, but I figured you needed a moment.” His mother squeezed him tightly. “A bit weird to be back, huh?”

 

Arthur nodded. “It’s good. I really was running out of money. How are things around here?”

 

“Not bad! I’m sure Allister caught you up on his life, but Fiona is doing well; she just moved in with her boyfriend! And Seamus got a new job downtown at a computer shop. You know he’s always been good with gadgets!” 

 

Arthur gave a hum in acknowledgment to his mother’s words, but again his mind had drifted off. Arthur’s the middle child, with Allister being the oldest and Fiona and Seamus being the youngest and twins. He suffered severe middle child syndrome growing up, so he took it upon himself to create friends—fairy friends. Being home really was bringing back some memories.

 

“Arthur, dear, are you alright? You seem spaced out… Oh! Of course, you must be exhausted, what with the time difference and all. I’ll reschedule the dinner for tomorrow, how does that sound, poppet?” His mother continued, “You go upstairs—I put some fresh sheets on your old bed. Think, you no longer have to share with Allister now that he’s off.” His mother shooed him upstairs, and as soon as Arthur’s head hit the pillow, he fell asleep.

 

\--

 

The next week went by uneventfully. The dinner was nice and Arthur got to meet up with his family, but he remembered exactly why he wanted to attend university in America in the first place: they were annoying and constantly picking on him. Or, after the questions about his life had passed and the jokes had run stale, he was ignored yet again. Ah, the memories that feeling brought up.

 

Needless to say, Arthur was happy when the next week rolled around and he told himself he would start looking for jobs again. It would give him something to do rather than sit in front of the telly all day. Monday morning, he headed out to collect the mail and, to his surprise, something was directed to him. He hastily sat down at the dining table and examined the letter. It was from a Jumeau Magazine, sent from Paris, France. Arthur’s jaw went slack. He had briefly heard of Jumeau in school, as it was a very fast up-and-coming new fashion magazine. The photography spreads they had in the magazine were flawless. What could they possible be doing, sending him a letter? He had never once purchased a magazine or any clothing from their line. How could they have his address? He quickly ripped the envelope open.

 

Dear Mr. Kirkland,

Jumeau Magazine would be delighted to have you come down to our studio in Avenue des Champs Elysees in the 8th arrondissement this Thursday for a photo shoot. You will be paid €500 for the day. If the editor-in-chief likes your work, a full-time job awaits you.

Thank you,  
Elizabeta Hedervary  
Director, Jumeau Magazine

 

Arthur couldn’t believe it. This high-end fashion magazine wanted to give him a photoshoot? He had to scan the letter a handful of times before the words finally sunk in. This was his chance! He didn’t care how they got his information or even knew he was a photographer in the first place. Using what little savings he had left, Arthur left the house and headed to downtown London. If he was going to be a fashion photographer for Jumeau Magazine, he needed to do his research.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone enjoyed! I had to do a little research about where are the biggest fashion streets in Paris and Google gave me the one I used, so if it's wrong, please let me know! Francis will be appearing in the next chapter. I have big plans for this fanfiction! FACE will come much later, as I want to give Francis and Arthur a very solid relationship before I add in anything. Next chapter will be out shortly, as I honestly have so much to write about.


	2. Chemistry with an Angel

Arthur felt confident, dressed in black dress slacks and a brand-new burgundy vest bought just for this photo shoot. He even had purchased a few Jumeau editions to study on how the photos were choregraphed and shot. He was one-hundred-and-ten percent ready for this. Or, so he thought, until he stepped stood in front of the magazine’s building. Crafted with cream colored stone, the architecture was fabulous and screamed elegance. He stepped inside and the lobby was obviously built with expensive tastes. The marble floor shone so clearly Arthur could perfectly see his reflection. He gripped his camera bag and approached the reception table. A handsome man sat behind the desk, wearing what Arthur imagined to be very expensive clothing. The man looked at him and grimaced at his outer wear. And here Arthur thought he had chosen a capable vest.

 

“Can I help you?” The man asked in quick French. Arthur begged his brain to remember his high-school level French.

 

“Er… Je… Je m’appelle Arthur. Arthur Kirkland. Je…” Arthur faltered.

 

“I speak English.” The receptionist sighed, typing something quickly on the computer. He stood up straighter and looked less disgusted at Arthur after he looked at the screen. “Ah, yes, Mr. Kirkland. My apologies, sir. You will be shooting on set number one.” He printed out an ID card for Arthur and handed it to him. “This will give you access to the elevator, but Ms. Hedervary should be down to escort you quickly, if you’d like to take a seat and wait for her.”

 

Arthur didn’t want to look like an idiot and get lost on what he hoped would be his first day of many, so he took a seat on one of the fine leather couches that were scattered throughout the lobby. He pretended to be interested in the fountain settled in front of him when he heard heels clicking on the floor. He turned around just in time to see a beautiful woman dressed in a sleek jumpsuit walking towards him. Her long brown hair was pulled back into a slick ponytail. Arthur felt another wave of nausea hit him. Was everyone in fashion so perfect looking? 

 

He shook his head. Get it together, Arthur! You’re a strong, handsome young man. You deserve to be here! He smiled at the woman and stood up a bit straighter. “Hello, you must be Ms. Hedervary?” Arthur questioned, another wave of pride flushing through him at how confident he sounded.

 

“I am, but you may call me Elizabeta. You may follow me, Mr. Kirkland.” Elizabeta turned, and Arthur wondered how women could be so quick on heels.

 

“Oh, Arthur is fine.” He replied, following her, and trying to keep his jaw-dropping to a minimum as they entered the elevator and went to another floor. There were photographs all over the walls and the photographer’s name was put underneath. He recognized many famous photographers from his studies and realized that Jumeau was more than some simple start-up magazine company. They’re the real deal. 

 

“We are very pleased to have you hear, Arthur.” Elizabeta began, approaching a room that read “STUDIO ONE” on the door in both English and French. She swiped her ID card and opened the door, allowing Arthur inside first. The set was ready for shooting, with props scattered around and a changeable backdrop already set with the scenes for the shoot. Arthur had never been in such a professional setting and felt his confidence waver. “Our model will be in very soon. We have no specific plans for this shoot, so feel free to let your imagination run wild.” 

 

Arthur nodded, when it dawned on him. “Er, how did you lot hear about me? I don’t remember applying to do this.” Then again, it wouldn’t be the first-time Arthur had reached out to a job begging for an interview when he was drunk. 

 

“Our editor-in-chief has been following on Instagram for some time now. We had some people research you and found your address. He’s been dying to have you on set.” 

 

“…Ah.” Arthur was saved from any awkward silence when the door opened again and Arthur’s breath was taken from him. The woman who walked in must be an angel, with the way the light reflected off her golden hair to create a halo. She’s tall and wonderfully skinny, with hips that would make Beyoncé jealous. She approached Arthur with such ease that he wondered if she was gliding on thin air. 

 

“Arthur,” He heard Elizabeta say, but her voice seemed so far away and his knees felt weak. “Meet Francis. He’ll be your model for today.”

 

Wait.

 

What?!

 

“He?!” Arthur started, unable to grasp that his angel could be a man. Francis was now in arms reach, and Arthur could notice the short stubble on his sharp jaw and the obvious Adam’s apple on his neck. Arthur cleared his throat. “Hello, Francis. Pleasure to be working with you.” He stuck out his hand and damn it Francis’ skin is as soft as silk. Arthur thought, for a quick second, it was good that he was bisexual. His cheeks heated up at the thought.

 

“Arthur, what a lovely name.” Francis purred, seeming to have a touch of trouble at Arthur’s name with his French accent. “Please, the pleasure is all mine.” It could’ve been the dim light of the room, but Arthur could’ve sworn he saw the Frenchman blink. He begged his heart to slow down, lest he was to have a heart attack from the frantic beating. 

 

Arthur cleared his throat again and fixed his posture again. He was here to do his job, not flirt with devilishly attractive models. “Shall we get started, Francis?”

 

Francis nodded and walked over to the set, and Arthur couldn’t help but notice how wonderfully the pants Francis wore hugged his ass. Curse the fashion industry and its hot employees. 

 

\--

 

The shoot went unbelievably well. Once Arthur was in the zone, he found Francis’ attractive body a little less distracting. The two of them had undeniable chemistry and were laughing and teasing each other the whole time. Elizabeta had led Arthur and Francis to an office, where the pictures were uploaded for the team to look at.

 

“These are absolutely wonderful, Arthur.” Francis gushed, admiring the photograph of himself on the screen. “I can see why the Editor-in-Chief wanted you to come in.”

 

Elizabeth looked from Francis to Arthur with an almost knowing smile on her face. “Ah, yes, Arthur, I will make sure to put in a good word for you, but I know you will be hired with work like this. We will stop by the finance office to get you your pay for the day, alright?”

 

Arthur nodded, and noticed Francis standing up and heading for the door. “I must bid thee farewell,” The Frenchman said, “it was wonderful meeting you, dear photographer. I hope to see you around.”

 

Arthur tried to fight the feeling of disappointment that ran through his body with Francis’ words, even with all the other good news at the prospect of a real job. “Oh, right; have a good day, Francis. It was nice working with you.” You’re possibly the most beautiful human I’ve ever met.

 

Francis smiled and walked out the office, leaving Arthur and Elizabeta alone. Arthur frowned, looking at the empty seat that Francis previously occupied.

“He’s cute, huh?” Elizabeta’s voice pulled Arthur from his stupor. 

 

“P-pardon?” Arthur stuttered, face growing red. He was so busted. Then again, he figured Elizabeta probably got this with every photographer who worked with Francis. He didn’t like the jealousy that flared through him with that thought. 

 

Elizabeta only laughed at Arthur’s embarrassment. “You’re a very special photographer to have worked with Francis. Very few get to.”

 

“Why?” 

 

“Oh dear, I’ve said too much already!” She didn’t look at all apologetic for letting the information slip. “I don’t want to hold you any longer, let’s go to the financial office!” With that, Elizabeta stood up and left the office, leaving Arthur to trail in her dust.

 

Once at the financial office, Elizabeta gave Arthur an envelope and started to lead him back to the lobby. “Inside the envelope is your pay, as promised, as well as my business card. If you have any further questions, please feel free to call. You’ll hear about the job in the next few business days.” They stopped in the polished marble hallway. Elizabeta held out her hand and Arthur shook it. “It was a pleasure, Arthur.”

 

“All mine.” Arthur said, taking the envelope and tucking it into his camera case. He left Jameaux Magazine headquarters and back onto the busy streets of Paris, trying to push back his fantasies of Francis and onto exciting, real news: He had a cash! He couldn’t help but tear open the envelope as he arrived upon his Air BnB room that he was staying at until the morning, when he would catch the bus back to London. Inside, as promised, was the check (to which he was careful of showing the amount on a public bus) and Elizabeta’s card, but also a hot-pink post-it note with loopy, girly cursive handwriting on it.

 

_Call Me! -Francis ❤_ As well as numbers Arthur could only assume to be Francis’ number.

 

The chemistry between them, Arthur was certain, is real.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Francis is introduced! Sorry for the somewhat abrupt chapter ending-- I'm away this weekend but I really wanted to get things out! Time will stop skipping once the story picks up and we get to the juicy. Anyway, hope everyone enjoys this second chapter!


	3. Jealousy

The letter Elizabeta has promised Arthur would receive finally came that Thursday. Arthur had waited impatiently for it, checking the mail religiously each day. He had been hired. He purchased some more sweater vests from more upper-level retailors with the paycheck he had received at his photoshoot with Francis. Speaking of the Frenchman, Arthur had yet to reach out to him. How could he? Francis must be some sort of unearthly being, with look like that. 

 

 _Bloody hell, Arthur, gain some self-confidence!_ Arthur reprimanded himself, pulling himself out of his own thoughts. Arthur puffed out his chest and walked across his bedroom to stand in front of the mirror. Who was he kidding? He’s a damn-handsome man (his mother told him so all the time, and moms never tell lies). He’s smart and has a wicked sense of humor, too. Someone had better take him now before he was off the market. _Francis is stupid to not want you, Arthur._

 

Filled with newfound self-confidence, Arthur pulled out his phone and punched in Francis’ number. He held it up to his ear.

 

_“Bonjour, Francis Bonnefoy parlant ; qui est-ce ?”_

 

Arthur didn’t think the French language had ever sounded so lovely. He grew nervous. His voice isn’t nearly as angelic as Francis’!

 

_“Bonjour?”_

 

Arthur promptly hung up the phone, palms sweaty. He sits down on his bed, chewing his lip anxiously. Realistically, he knew it’s unreasonable for him to be so head-over-heels with Francis—he hardly knows the man! But… it has been a while since he’s thought of anyone romantically; during school, Arthur was all about getting top grades and getting a foothold in the photography industry. He didn’t care where he ended up, as long as he could take pictures for a living. Now that dream was kicking off, why couldn’t he dream of a relationship? Especially with a beautiful Frenchman who seemed to have taken an interest in him, as well. 

 

Regaining his composure, Arthur picks his cell-phone up again and redials the number. 

 

_“Bonjour?”_

 

“Francis, hello, this is Arthur Kirkland speaking.”

 

_“Ah, oui, Arthur! How are you, cher? I was afraid you would never call.”_

 

At least Francis sounded happy to hear from Arthur, that’s a confidence booster for sure.

 

“I’m fine. I got the job at Jumeau Magazine!” The Brit exclaimed.

 

_”Oui, I heard. That is wonderful news, Arthur! Elizabeta and I were rooting for you.”_

 

“Thank you, I-“ Arthur was interrupted by what sounded like a woman’s laughter on the other end of the line.

 

 _”I am sorry, Arthur-“_ Francis broke off into a giggle, and Arthur knew there was someone at the other end, as he heard quick French in a voice too feminine to be Francis’. _“-I must be going. I will see you around the office!”_

 

Arthur heard the dial tone and pulled his phone from his ear, frowning at it. “That was rude.” Arthur grumbled, crumpling up the post-it Francis gave him. Arthur should’ve known better than to trust a Frenchman. They were all slimy frogs. Francis gave Arthur hope by offering the Brit his number, just to crush that hope away by answering his call while he was clearly in the middle of a date! Arthur tries to cover up the embarrassment with dignified indifference. Perhaps Francis did this too all newbies—flirt and give them his number just to have them ask him on a date and have Francis laugh and say it’s all a joke. Elizabeta must be on it, too, giving him a “Oh, but Francis is such a popular model, you’re lucky to be able to photograph him.” 

 

 _What a load of bull_ , if Arthur might say. He’ll just say he wanted to be more familiar with his coworkers, if they try to laugh at him. He’d show them that he’s not one to take petty jokes to heart. He’ll get his work done and that’s that.

 

\--

 

Arthur remained in a bad mood for the rest of the weekend, no longer eager to start his new job. If this all was just a cruel prank, then he couldn’t imagine what his other coworkers would be like. Sure, he had seen the movies, like _The Devil Wears Prada_ , but he had assumed the pettiness of the fashion world was just Hollywood over-dramatizing things. However, Sunday morning, he still found himself waiting for the bus, his suitcase in tow. To make his commute easier, he’d rented a little flat from Air BnB for the month, just to test the waters out. If he didn’t like his job by the end of the month, he’d quit. The experience would look good on a résumé. He bid his mother goodbye and begrudgingly called the rest of the family to say he’d be back by the end of the month. The few weeks he’d been home didn’t help ease any tension he’d had with his siblings. They were all still annoying as ever. 

 

The Air BnB was nice enough, for what he had paid for it. He didn’t have much money to throw around and find an Air BnB in the nicest area in France, but he did find was doable. It was in a safe part of area, something Arthur’s mother had insisted he look for in a place, but very small actual living space. He paid more for safety than room. Everything was in one room, the only other room in the flat being a bathroom. It reminded Arthur of the flat in that movie, _Ratatouille_. He had to watch it with Lea a few times; she went through a phase of it. Honestly, Arthur was happy he didn’t like the flat too much. He’s feeling pessimistic about the job, and so the less he likes the place, the easier it’ll be to pack up and leave. 

 

Monday came too quickly, and Arthur found himself walking into Jumeau Magazine’s building with lackluster. He’d worn his nicest vest for the trial-photography, but today, Arthur found himself in simply button-up and some slacks. He noticed Elizabeta talking to the receptionist, and she lit up when she saw the Brit. 

 

“Arthur, fabulous to see you!” She squeezed the receptionist shoulder before walking over to Arthur. Again, she was dressed so well that Arthur, though upset still over the situation, wished he’d put more effort into his appearance. He could always blame it on always having a poor fashion sense, he guessed. “Are you excited to start?” Elizabeta continued, looking at him expectantly.

 

Arthur’s mood was turning sourer, but he wouldn’t be able to put this job on a résumé if he was fired for having a bad temper, so he refrained from snapping at her. “Yes, very excited. What’s the plan for today?” 

 

“Nothing too excited, I’m afraid. We’re in the process of finishing our April edition. Just editing the final touches before sending it to print! First things first, we need to get you an official company card.” Elizabeta led Arthur to the front desk. “Arthur, this is my boyfriend and our wonderful receptionist, Roderich. We’re _very_ progress here, and allow inter-office relationships!”

 

Arthur didn’t know why this information was important to him. It did little to brighten his mood. Nonetheless, he’s a gentleman, and greeted Roderich. “Nice to finally make your acquaintance.” He still hadn’t completely forgiven Roderich for the rudeness he was greeted with last time. 

 

Roderich didn’t offer a smile. “Yes, well, I’ll be taking you from Liza and getting your I.D. card set up. Come with me.” The dark-haired man walked into a room behind the front desk, Elizabeta sitting down at the receptionist desk, apparently happy to be playing reception for a moment. Arthur was reminded at how truly small and new Jumeau is, to only have one receptionist. 

 

Arthur followed. “You’ve done a few shoots for Jumeau, right? I think I’ve seen some pictures of you before. During one of their earlier shoots—it was musical themed?” 

 

“Oh, that.” Roderich huffed, though his façade didn’t give away to the light blush that dusted his cheeks. “Elizabeta made me. She wanted some nice pictures of me. The Editor-in-Chief owed her a favor. Now, if you have no further questions, stand right on that X—yes, very good.” Roderich went up to the camera and grimaced, mumbling something under his breath. Arthur thought he heard his eyebrows being mentioned and scowled. 

 

_Click!_

 

Roderich moved away from the camera and to a printer, soon handing Arthur his own I.D. card. “This will now give you access to any room in the building, as well as the elevators.” They walked out of the back room, and Roderich instantly went back to his job, and Elizabeta pulled Arthur along through the elevator. “Just wait until you see your office! It’s _très chic_!”

 

An office? That did make Arthur’s sour mood slip away a tad. He’s getting an office! How exciting! Elizabeta lead him to the second floor of the building and lead him down a corridor similar to the one with all of the shoot rooms. This one was lined with different blown-up Jumeau magazine covers and articles. 

 

She eagerly pointed to one of the doors, where a plaque reading _Arthur Kirkland; Photographer_ read. 

 

“Do all photographers get this kind of treatment?” Arthur asked, curious. He was starting to get curious at why he was liked so much, here. He’s never been this quickly liked, and is often told he’s hard to get along with. 

 

“I did tell you that our Editor-in-Chief has had an eye on you for a while, now.” Elizabeta said, opening the door for Arthur to reveal a black-and-white themed office room, the only pop of color being a bouquet of yellow roses set on the windowsill. 

 

“Who is this Editor-in-Chief? A Monsieur Dubois, yes? Do I get to meet him, seeing as he’s so fond of me?” Arthur questioned. 

 

Elizabeta smiled at him, but it was somewhat tight. “No, I’m afraid he works from home most of the time, down in Marseille, and he is a very busy man, no time to meet even you. I hope you understand. Any other questions? Your assignment is by your computer; simple editing of the photos you took of Francis, I believe. I really must be on my way. Goodbye, Arthur!” She hastily left the room, leaving the door open in her rush. 

 

Arthur frowned and walked over to the roses. Yellow, representing friendship and new beginning. There wasn’t a card, so Arthur assumed they just added the flowers to bring a pop of color to the room, any hidden meaning lost. 

 

“Like the flowers, cher?” A French voice purred, and Arthur spun around to find Francis leaning on the doorframe. 

 

Arthur frowned. “Oh, they’re from you?” His eyes narrowed. “Are you sure they’re meant for me?” 

 

Francis had the audacity to look surprised at the venom in Arthur’s voice. “Not a fan of flowers, Arthur? I have no idea what you mean.”

 

“It’s rude to give someone their number if they’re already seeing someone, Francis.” Arthur was quickly losing his cool. 

 

Francis opened his mouth, Arthur figured he was going to try to tell Arthur he’s not the womanizing frog the Brit made him out to be, before the Frenchman started laughing. Arthur’s eyebrow twitched. “What’s so funny?”

 

“Oh, Arthur, are you thinking about the phone call?” The laughter continued. 

 

“I-Well, yes, I am!” Arthur couldn’t fight off the angry and embarrassed flush that was creeping along his face. 

 

“My sister was visiting for the weekend.” Francis’ laughter subsided, though he still had an amused smile on his face. “She wanted to spend some time away from home—she has these two twins that always demand her attention. Needed a girl’s weekend away, oui?” 

 

Francis walked closer to Arthur, who had his arms crossed and was pointedly looking anywhere but Francis, face beet red. “I am sorry if you got jealous, cher.”

 

“Me? Jealous? No, I hardly know you.” Arthur mumbled.

 

“Ah, I see.” Though Arthur couldn’t see it, Francis’ smile had softened, though his eyes were still crinkled with amusement. “How about we start fresh? Forget the whole incident never happened.”

 

Arthur glanced up at him. “I’m listening.” 

 

“Let me treat you to dinner—how does this Friday work? I know the cutest little restaurant we could go to, and I can show you around the city as well!”

 

“This Friday?” Arthur was gaining his confidence back, forcing himself to push his embarrassment to the back of his mind. Francis is most certainly into him! He nonchalantly looked at his nails. “I’ll have to check my calendar, see if I’m free.”

 

“Of course, an amazing man such as yourself must be very high in demand.” Francis chuckled, slowly backing up to make his exit. “You have my number, yes? Let me know what you decide.”

 

With that, the Frenchman made his leave, closing the door gently behind him. Arthur scrambled through his bag to find his phone, going to recently called to save Francis’ number. Not wanting to blow his chance, he sent Francis’ a quick text: _I’m free this Friday at eight. Don’t be late._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope Arthur doesn't seem too whiny. I like to picture him as proud, but he doesn't receive much romantic attention, so when someone (especially someone as hot as Francis) shows interest in him, he gets his hopes up. He would also know the meaning of the flowers. I chose yellow roses just cuz.
> 
> Thanks to Kankri_vantas_1243, Le_Lutin_ivre, Antimisma, Scarygamer345, King_Memnoch and the guests who left kudos, and Fruk-de-Lys, Kankri_vantas_1243 and Scarygamer345 for commenting! Your support keeps me going.


	4. The Date

Francis, Arthur’s a little bitter to admit, was perfectly on-time for their date. Arthur had sent him his address earlier in the day. The whole week they had gone without seeing each other, but Francis had left Arthur gifts that eluded to their night out. On Tuesday, Arthur had received a very expensive cashmere soft-beige sweater vest, a small Eiffel Tower trinket on Wednesday with a note that read ‘ _You need something of Paris in your office—job rules ;)_ ’, a plate of what Arthur could tell were home-made chocolate chip cookies on Thursday, and a simple post-it note on Friday saying, ‘ _See you tonight!_ ’.

 

All in all, Arthur was feeling pampered and embarrassed, as he hadn’t given Francis a single thing. On Thursday, he had tried to deliver a single salmon colored rose with a small Big Ben trinket as pay-back for the Eiffel Tower charm, but when he asked Roderich where he could drop the gift off, the Austrian man informed Arthur that models don’t have offices in the building, and that Francis wasn’t working that day. Arthur was confused when he saw his own gifts at his desk then, but shrugged it off, thinking Francis had given it to someone (most likely Elizabeta, that woman loves romantic gestures) to leave there. 

 

Anyway, Arthur was again surprised when at exactly eight-o’clock sharp, Francis Bonnefoy knocked on his apartment door. Arthur himself had barely finished getting ready, running a comb through his hair one last time before rushing to the door and fumbling with the lock until, finally, it opened. “Francis,” Arthur cleared his throat, “hello; please, step inside really quick while I put on some shoes.”

 

Francis smiled at him, obviously enjoying how flustered Arthur was getting. He stepped inside and looked around, and Arthur suddenly wished he had just told Francis he would meet him at the restaurant. Instead, Arthur cleared his throat again and stood up straighter while he slipped into some loafers. “Problem?”

 

The Frenchman held his hands up in surrender, but didn’t look offended. “Not at all. I only wish you had told me you were living in this part of town, cher. It’s very unsafe. We could have set you up with a nicer flat until you saved up enough money for your own.”

 

“I highly doubt the company would put me in a nicer place. I’m only a photographer.” Arthur narrowed his eyes at Francis. “And you’re only a model.”

 

“Always so snippy, Arthur.” Francis countered, looping his arm through Arthur’s after the Brit had locked up his flat and the two started walking down the street. Arthur was beginning to realize Francis is a very touchy-feely person, contrary to Arthur’s personal-space personality. It wasn’t bad, he found, to have someone be all over him. The Frenchman continued, “I take it you liked my gifts? I’m so glad you’re wearing the vest.”

 

True to it, Arthur’s wearing the cashmere vest Francis gave him, as well as his finest pair of slacks and loafers he polished until they shined. “I, er, yes, I figured you would want me to wear it. I had a gift for you on Thursday, but I was informed you weren’t at the office. Did you give my gifts to Elizabeta to leave in my office?” Arthur was honestly impressed by the thought of planning Francis had put into the whole gift-giving, if that’s the case. 

 

“Ah, that’s a secret, my dear.” Francis laughed, leading Arthur into the nicer parts of Paris. They talked about work and the weather and other small unspecific topics on the walk to the restaurant, Francis pointing out different history of buildings and the life. Even though the conversation was simple, Arthur found himself having a good time and finding no trouble on what to say to Francis. Arthur also had to admit that Francis had really outdone himself for the occasion. Sure, Francis always looked stunning whenever Arthur saw him, but tonight, Francis was wearing a soft-pink silk button up that contrasted with Arthur’s vest perfectly (honestly, Arthur had a hunch that Francis knew he would wear the vest) and black dress pants that fit in all the right places. Up close, Arthur could see that Francis was wearing makeup, and even though Arthur himself isn’t a fan of makeup, Francis rocked the natural-look and soft pink lipstick. 

 

Arthur had been so involved studying Francis, he didn’t notice that Francis had led to the front of a small restaurant, simply named Le café français. It was settled between two little boutiques on a quiet side street. Arthur, forever the gentleman, moved away from Francis to hold the door open for him. The Brit followed Francis inside, mindful not to stare too obviously at Francis’ behind as he walked behind him, and took in the surroundings. The walls were covered with various pictures of famous Paris monuments and wine bottles stood on shelves. The tables were small and wooden, with white table cloths on them and a candle and tiny flower vases on top to tie everything in. It wasn’t exactly a restaurant where he pictured Francis to eat, but he himself was drawn to the cute charm it emitted. 

 

Francis said something to the host and the two of them were taken to a table near the back: very private but not at all a bad seat. Arthur held out Francis’ chair for him before taking his own seat, looking over the small menu that the host placed in front of him. “I’ll say, I didn’t think you’d take me to a place like this.”

 

“What do you mean by that, cher?” Francis looked confused, his head tilted ever-so-slightly to the right.

 

“Someplace so… casual.” Arthur admitted, keeping his eyes trained on the menu. 

 

“The finer things in life don’t always have to be so grandiose. This place happens to have the best escargot around—I’m talking supple, juicy, and filled with flavor. Perfect!” Francis hummed.

 

Arthur barely suppressed a grimace; he had tried snail once before, and he was not a fan. French food in general rubbed him the wrong way, after his brother forced him to eat this raw meat dish when they had taken a holiday in France as kids. English food was much more his style: hearty, homey, and filled with delicious fully-cooked items, thank you very much. He wasn’t going to show his displeasure to Francis, though. It’s a first date and Arthur wants it to be a good one. “Yes, well, if that’s what you recommend, I’ll have to get it. I’m not very familiar with French cuisine.” 

 

“Then I chose the right place! They have a sample menu with all of their most popular French dishes, and they’re dessert is divine.” Francis looked so pleased, and Arthur felt his heart beat rapidly in his chest and his stomach flutter hopefully. 

 

“That sounds wonderful.” Arthur agreed, and was saved from any more French-food conversation when the waiter came over and took their orders.

 

\--

 

The meal was amazing, as bitter as Arthur was to admit it. He tried to avoid the escargot and frog legs, but Francis had insisted on spearing them with his fork and feeding it to the highly-embarrassed Brit. The escargot wasn’t bad, but just the thought of eating frog made Arthur queasy, yet he managed to keep them down and force a smile. Francis just laughed. 

 

For dessert, they ordered a bowl of crème brûlée with whipped cream and strawberries on top. Their conversation was getting more personal after finishing off a bottle of wine.

 

“Yes, I love my dear sister, Marianne.” Francis swooned. “She is such a dear, as well as her husband, Louis. He is from Montreal; they met when he came over to study abroad back in his university years. They just had a pair of twins three years back, little Alfred and Matthieu. Sweet boys, really.”

 

Arthur liked hearing about Francis’ family. It made him seem less of the angelic being Arthur dreamt him as and more of a mere mortal. A combination of the two made the perfect human, in Arthur’s mind. “Twins, hm? My younger siblings, Fiona and Seamus, are twins. Such brats, the two of them. Allister is my oldest brother, and he and his wife have a two-year-old daughter, Azalea. I don’t know how someone like Allister could have such a cute child, honestly.” Arthur chucked thinking about his niece. 

 

“You have such a nice laugh, Arthur.” Francis smiled at him, resting his head on his hand. “You should do it much more. I hear from Elizabeta that you’re such a stick-in-the-mud at work. I think I believe her, too.”

 

“You-!” Arthur blushed from embarrassment and annoyance. “I am not a stick-in-the-mud! I’m just very serious about my work.” Arthur huffed, leaning back in his chair. “Speaking of work, why have I not met Monsieur Dubois yet? I hear he’s such a big fan of mine, but the man has yet to reach out to me. Now, I’m not sure how fashion companies work, but I think I should at least be able to schedule an appointment to introduce myself, don’t you think?”

 

Francis’ smile drifted away and he leaned in closer to Arthur, suddenly very serious. “Can you keep a secret?”

 

Arthur frowned, confused. “I can, yes. Why?” He didn’t like Francis not smiling. It didn’t suit him well at all.

 

“Monsieur Dubois isn’t the real editor-in-chief of the company.” Francis murmured. 

 

“What do you mean?” Arthur explained, “I’ve googled the man! He comes up and Elizabeta even told me about him!”

 

“Shh, cher, calm down, please.” Francis took in a deep breath and took Arthur’s hand. “I need you to promise me that you won’t tell anyone else.”

 

Arthur narrowed his eyes. “Fine. I won’t tell anyone else.” Not that he had many people to run off telling secrets to, anyway.

 

Francis visibly lightened. “Good. Monsieur Dubois is my step-father. He’s agreed to be the faux editor-in-chief for me.”

 

“I don’t understand, Francis.”

 

The Frenchman sighed, “Many people don’t when I tell them. Sure, I love the spotlight, but being a model is hard enough. People know who I am now, but imagine if I were discovered to be the editor-in-chief of a fashion magazine? I would never be left alone. I like being able to visit my sister without worrying about everything. My step-father is old and lives on a farm down by Marseille. He hardly leaves, so he agreed to be the figure-head. He is what the public knows, but I do the work and can stay under the radar if I wish.” 

 

Arthur stayed quiet for a while, eyes going from Francis’ honest face to the table. “…I understand. I wouldn’t want to be in the public’s eye all the time, either.” 

 

Francis grinned and was about to open his mouth when Arthur stopped him with his words. “I don’t know if it’s all right that I date my boss.”

 

Arthur was speaking straight to the table, and only looked up when he felt that Francis had removed his hand from on top of his own. “Why would it not be okay, Arthur?” The Frenchman spoke, frowning deeply and looking somewhat distraught. 

 

“I just—what if something goes wrong? What if you decide you don’t like my work anymore?” Arthur turned his eyes back to the table as he spoke, confidence failing him.

 

“Oh, cher, I don’t think I’ll be getting rid of you anytime soon.” Francis murmured, a soft smile on his face that Arthur couldn’t see due to his eyes being glued to the table. “And for your work? I highly doubt your photography could ever cease to amaze me.” 

 

The Brit looked back up at Francis, eyebrows furrowed together as he was deep in thought, before they softened. “Are you hinting that they’ll be more dates, Francis?” Arthur decided to tease the man to make-up for his failing self-confidence before. 

 

The ghost of a blush showed on Francis’ cheek and the man smiled. “I think I am.” He stood up and held his hand out for Arthur. “Come, I had promised to show you around Paris a little, oui? The night is still young.”

 

Arthur smiled back at him and took his hand, and together they walked out of the restaurant and into Paris’ streets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter took so long, but you guys get some answers! (I was going to keep the editor-in-chief thing a secret a bit more, but I want this story to pick up. I'm so impatient.) I have finals coming up soon, so I've been busy with that, but I'll try to get one more chapter out next week before I really have to crack down and study. Again, thanks for all the support!


	5. The Office

As much as Arthur would have loved to explore all of France with Francis after a magnificent first date, worked called his name again the Monday after the date. Heck, he even had to do work over the weekend: editing photos, replying to emails from higher-ups wondering why he submitted his photos late, etcetera. Arthur hated to admit it, but he had been so caught-up in his Francis-Bonnefoy related thoughts, that he had let his work slip. He had no real excuse to give his higher-ups, either. “Oh, I was on a date with our Editor-in-Chief. No, no, not the old guy! I’m not into that sort of thing,” wouldn’t cut it because 1. Francis had trusted Arthur with his secret and the Brit had no intention on spilling the beans and 2. Even _if_ he were to come out and say he was on a date, that’s really no excuse to miss out on his work. But what could Arthur say? His whole university career was based on being the best of the best and getting a job so he could be a successful photographer. Did that work? Yes, but it meant missing out on some fun times with his few friends and meeting any romantic interests. He did try the dating app thing, just because it’s quick and easy, but the guys and gals alike were only interested in one of two things: one night stands or introducing Arthur to the parents on the second date. Needless to say, College-Arthur had concluded that he’d rather die alone then give online dating a second chance. So when Francis came along and showed interest in Arthur, and furthermore asked Arthur on a date… Nothing else seemed important.

 

However, it meant spending the rest of his precious weekend playing catchup, only to be exhausted by the time Monday rolled around. To add to it all, the Brit’s running out of his nicer sweater vests. So far, he hasn’t seen a coworker wear the same outfit twice. Though when he started, he went into the workplace thinking the fashion industry wouldn’t change him, he now couldn’t bear the thought of being caught wearing the same sweater vest again. Deep down, he wondered if becoming so close to Francis had something to do with it. If they were to continue dating, Arthur wanted to be able to be someone Francis wouldn’t be embarrassed to be seen with. At a small café it’s fine if Arthur wears his usual dress pants, vest, and loafer’s combination, but at a fancy fashion party? What if Francis’ entire family dresses as nicely as Francis does? Arthur would surely be an embarrassment then. Wow, Arthur’s really starting to sound like one of those dating app people—ready to become serious when they’ve only been on one date. 

 

Arthur, who had been staring blankly at his computer screen while he was lost in his thoughts, snapped out of it when he heard a knock on his office door. “Yes, come in.” He tapped on his keyboard to act as though he had been hard at work all along, but relaxed when he saw that it was Liz, who looked about ready to explode with her lips pressed tightly together and eyebrows raised. “Alright, I figure you want to know how things went with Francis?”

 

“Of course! Everything leading up to the date had been so romantic—leaving gifts and notes! How precious! I always try to get Roderich to do things like that with me, but alas, it always fails. Our relationship is just romantic in other ways!” The Hungarian woman eagerly replied.

 

If Arthur didn’t know that Elizabeta’s the director of a respected magazine, he’d take her for a massive fangirl who spends her days writing fanfiction. _She probably_ does _write fanfiction in her sparetime._ Arthur thinks to himself, before opening his mouth to reply to her. “If you really must know, we had a wonderful time.” He’s not about to spill his date-details to someone he hardly knows, friendly or not. 

 

Elizabeta huffs, but doesn’t looked disheartened by Arthur’s lack of detail. “I had a feeling you wouldn’t talk. Thankfully Francis already filled me in on all of the _dirty_ details.” She laughs at Arthur’s horrified looking face. “Kidding, of course! Really, this was one of the most non-sexual dates Francis has ever been on.”

 

Arthur’s mind instantly jumps on the thought that Francis is just playing with him; that he doesn’t really like Arthur. _Non-sexual? What, am I not good enough to want to mess around with?_ “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” 

 

The woman walks over to Arthur and gently squeezes his shoulder. “It’s a very good thing, Arthur.” Elizabeta’s hand moved from his shoulder and she moves back to the other side of his desk. “I hear he told you the secret?” She rests her head on her hand, watching Arthur with intrigued olive-green eyes.

 

Not knowing if Liz knows the real secret or not, Arthur decides to play it safe and act dumb. “What secret?”

 

“You know, Francis being the Editor-in-Chief of Jumeau!” She exclaims, moving her head off her hand to twirl her hand around in emphasis. 

 

“Oh, yes, I know of the secret, then.” Arthur replies.

 

“It took Francis nearly a year to tell me the secret, and that’s only because he needed a second-in-command. Roderich knows as well, of course, because I couldn’t _not_ keep it a secret from him, with Francis’ permission, of course. And, well, it does make sense for the secretary to know who to forward calls to, hm?” Elizabeta rambled for a bit, before pausing to look Arthur dead in the eyes. The severity and sudden seriousness made Arthur go stiff, unaccustomed to seeing Liz so serious. “As far as I’m aware, only us three know, including Francis’ family. I’ll have you know I told Francis I was skeptical of him telling you. No offense, Arthur, but you did just start at the company. I couldn’t tell if you’d be trust-worthy or not. I’m still not sure it was the best idea, so mark my words, if this secret spills and it’s you who spilt it, you’ll pay.”

 

Arthur gulps, unable to pull on his indifferent façade and instead nods his head weakly. “I won’t tell a word.” With a rush of confidence and emotion, he adds, “I wouldn’t want to ruin Francis’ life that way. I know how important it is for this to stay a secret. I swear, even if things don’t work out well between us, I’ll never say a word.” 

 

Arthur’s office is silent for a while after that, with Arthur averting his gaze after his outburst and Elizabeta sitting there with a somewhat shocked look on her face. The British man surprised himself with how much he really meant the things he said: he would take this secret to the grave if he had to. He’s amazed at how quickly Francis had made himself an important person in Arthur’s life. Typically, these things take time for Arthur. The only people he’d consider himself close to are his family members. They’re important to Arthur, no matter how annoying they may be or how hard they mess with Arthur. An outside person has never come close to being as important as his family. But, with Francis…

 

“I believe you.” Arthur’s eyes meet Elizabeta’s and before Arthur can speak, she continues, “That was very sincere, Arthur. I’m glad you chose to open up to me like that.” She smiles at Arthur, and the Brit is a little taken aback at how quickly the Hungarian can go from being stern and somewhat scary to soft and kind. 

“Er… You’re welcome?” Arthur didn’t really know what to say. “Is… Is there anything else you wish to tell me?”

 

“Oh! I almost forgot,” Elizabeta exclaimed, “Francis wants to you to go to his office. He has some big news for you.”

 

“… That frog has an office here and I’m only just hearing about it?” If Arthur had known before, he would have been able to give Francis the rose and Big Ben trinket back the week before their date. Arthur had been feeling guilty for nothing! 

 

Elizabeta shrugged, “You didn’t know the secret, but of course the Editor-in-Chief has his own office as soon as possible.” Elizabeta pulled out an elevator key and hands it to Arthur. “It’s on the fourth floor, but you’ll need this key to access the floor on the elevator. I think Francis is having a key made for you.” With that, Liz stands up and walks out the door, but not before giving Arthur a wink and a, “Have fun!” Which left Arthur very flustered as to _why_ Francis had summoned him to his office. 

 

The thought of Francis calling him up there for more… intimate reasons, had Arthur feeling confident and proud. Why was he worried that Francis wouldn’t want to be more intimate with him in the first place? But, also, it made him nervous to see Francis _naked_. The man’s gorgeous enough _with_ clothes on, Arthur could hardly imagine what he looked like naked—Not that he’s tried! He’s a true British gentleman. 

 

With a faint blush on his face, the Brit stood up from his office and headed to the elevator. Thankfully, nobody was around so he could easily put the key in the slot and press the fourth-floor button. Childish as it might sound, this sneaking around reminded Arthur of his childhood, when he dreamt of being a world-class spy. He shakes the silly thought from his head; gosh, he hasn’t even thought about his foolish childhood dream in a while. The whole atmosphere of the magazine office and flirting with Francis has made Arthur feel happier than he has been in quite some time. 

 

The elevator doors opened to reveal a finely-decorated foyer with only one door on the opposite wall of the elevator. The door held no name plate like the rest of the offices in the building, and the windows on the elaborate door were covered with curtains, giving the whole area a mysterious feeling. If Arthur didn’t know that it was Francis behind the door, he may almost be afraid, even with the brightly-colored walls and curtains. The whole place was just eerie in-comparison to the rest of the office, as it was silent. However, Arthur supposed it had to be this way, to help keep the secret just that: a secret. Even though Arthur remembers that the part to the fourth floor is roped off, if anyone would walk up here, they would surely be confused, but at least couldn’t see inside the office. 

 

The green-eyed man strides across the foyer and knocks on the door, pressing his ear up to it to hear the reply. He heard a French reply, but then Francis seemed to guess it was probably Arthur and switched to English: “Come in!” And Arthur did, opening the door and walking in. 

 

“Shouldn’t this door be locked? What if someone came up here?” Arthur questioned, his eyes ignoring the spacious and finely-decorated office to focus in on the most beautiful object in the room: Francis. The Frenchman was sitting at a modern-looking glass desk, with copies (probably the originals, Arthur noted) of Jumeau magazines lining the wall behind him, in between two large windows. It looked like Francis was working on piecing articles and photos on his desk, but he looked up when Arthur entered. He was wearing a navy cardigan with a white shirt underneath it, and his blonde hair was pulled back with a sparkly navy-blue ribbon to match his cardigan. As Arthur approached, he could see Francis was wearing makeup, but it was in a natural style. All in all, looking at Francis took Arthur’s breath away. 

 

“You worry too much, Arthur.” Though Francis said it with a twinkle in his royal blue eyes and a soft smile. “Of all the time I have been up here, I have never had an unexpected visitor. Also, I get lonely when I lock the door; it is bad enough being up on this floor all by myself.” The blonde pouted and normally Arthur would find a pout on a grown-man ridiculous, but on Francis, it somehow worked. 

 

Arthur was only somewhat sympathetic to Francis’ struggle. So, he smirked at the man. “Are you trying to suggest I move up here with you?” Arthur looked around the office, taking it fully in. It was a bit roomier than he though, but nearly every spot was taken up by mannequins sporting half-finished designs, a sewing machine in a corner with walls of thread and sequence surrounding it, and then a couch and coffee table in another corner. There was another door off to the side which Arthur was assuming is a bathroom. 

 

After a good look-around, Arthur’s eyes landed back on Francis. The Frenchman spoke, “I suppose there is no room…” He sighs. “And you’re needed down on the photographer’s wing.” Francis stood up from his desk and walks around it and sits in one of the chairs in front of his desk. “Sit, cher.” He said while gesturing to the other open chair. 

 

The Brit obliged and sat, a little stiff in his posture because the was taking a more serious turn then Elizabeta had hinted at. It wasn’t that Francis was somber, but Arthur’s pessimistic mind figured something bad was going to happen, with the somewhat serious look Francis is giving him, and the invite to his office. “What was I called in here about?” Maybe Francis hadn’t enjoyed the date as much as Arthur had. Though, when they had texted each other over the weekend (another reason Arthur fell behind in his work), Francis seemed satisfied enough. Then again, it’s hard to read emotions through texts. Even with Francis’ excess use of emojis. He could be the kind of man who is polite over text because he prefers breaking hearts face-to-face. _Wow,_ Arthur thinks, _I_ have _to stop being so pessimistic._

 

Francis reached out and took Arthur’s hand. “Arthur, what I am about to ask is a very big deal. So, I am asking you to let me get out what I need to say before you say anything, oui?” 

 

Arthur nodded his head, but stayed quiet. 

 

The Frenchman smiled and squeezed Arthur’s hand. “Great. As you are aware of, the World Fashion Tour is starting next month: Milan, Florence, London, Dubai, Australia, Berlin, New York City, and Paris are the destination points. It will go all through the summer and into the fall. Some events, like London and Berlin, are month-long events because two different fashion shows take place. I am telling you this, of course, because I would like for you to be the head-photographer for the Tour. You will oversee the other photographers and have to capture the cities we go to and the events. Do you accept? You will not be fired if you decline, but…” Francis paused for dramatic flare and averted his eyes, biting his lower lip. “I am afraid this relationship would have to end. I do not do the long distance, you see.”

 

Arthur didn’t doubt there was truth behind Francis’ words—that he doesn’t do the long distance. But, he knew Francis added that to further convince Arthur to accept the job. “Of course I’ll go.” He’d be dumb to turn it down. This is a huge leap for his career—and, hopefully, his and Francis’ relationship. “Why would I turn this down?”

 

Francis grinned and leaned over, giving Arthur a firm smooch on his lips: their first kiss. Francis’ lips were soft and tasted like cherry, probably from the lip-gloss the Frenchman was wearing. Arthur didn’t have the braincells to worry that his lips might be chapped and perhaps he tasted too strongly like the tea he drinks, but, at the moment, Arthur could barely think of anything else besides how right this felt. 

 

After what felt like forever and a few seconds all in one, the two pulled away, but their faces remained close to one another. Arthur was looking straight at Francis’ eyes, trying to put together how the Frenchman felt about it, but Francis was staring at Arthur’s lips. “Francis?”

 

Francis’ eyes met Arthur’s and the Frenchman smiled, “There is also a raise involved.”

 

Arthur rolled his eyes and pulled away. “You really could have started with that and told me about the job afterwards. I’m always down to make more money. Do you realize how expensive groceries are here?”

 

Francis laughs and squeezes Arthur’s hand again, having never let go during the kiss. “That’s what I like about you, Arthur. So witty.”

 

“I’m being serious, Francis.”

 

Francis’ laughter rung throughout the office before the two leaned in and kissed again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Terribly sorry for the delay on this chapter-- External things were happing, yada yada. Thank you again for all of the support! A special thanks to Allheroeswearhts, whose comment made me get off my butt and write this chapter. 
> 
> NOTE: I picture it to be April at this time. Also, I understand that usually these fashion weeks take place only in spring or fall, but for the sake of the fanfiction, it's going to be a nearly year-long one-after-one event.


	6. Milan

By the time May rolled around, Arthur was packed and ready to go to Milan, Italy, for Milan Fashion Week. Francis had prepped him to be ready for the hustle and bustle of a fashion show, but arriving at the airport and being swamped by paparazzi… well, Arthur wasn’t prepared for that. Guess that’s what happens when the man you’re dating is a well-known model. Dating, because they hadn’t discussed on whether they’re boyfriends yet. But Arthur’s fairly certain that him and Francis are exclusive. That doesn’t release the queasy feeling Arthur gets in his stomach when he sees Francis touching other models and fashion designers they see at the airport in such a flirtatious, familiar way. He tries not to let it bother him; he has more work to do in Milan than he ever did back in Paris. Now he’s in charge of people… Gosh, that takes him back to his senior year of high school when he got himself together and actually became student-body president. Not that he has a problem with being in charge, but sometimes he can be a little bossy. He doesn’t want Francis to see him as bossy. That’s unattractive. 

 

Ignoring his insecure Francis problems for another day, Arthur is completely blown away by Milan itself. Sure, he’s lived in New York the past four years of his life, but the novelty of New York fades after being hassled by the Times Square entertainers the umpteenth time in a row. Aside from the Big Apple, Arthur’s only ever been to England (of course), and Scotland and Ireland a few times to visit his family when his siblings were scattered over the countries. Even then, he’d only stay at their homes and for a day or two at a time. Nothing spectacular. Paris also has a charm, Arthur supposes, but he’s been so involved in Francis and work he hasn’t done much sightseeing. The airport itself was nothing special, but once Francis and the entourage pushed through the throngs of reporters and photographers trying to get a first-interview of the models and designers and head into the heart of the city (in a decked-out limousine, nonetheless), the old architecture impresses Arthur more than the skyscrapers of New York or the crumbly homes his siblings used to live in ever did. It doesn’t beat the beauty of Big Ben or the Parliament Building back in London, but it’s marvelous in its own way. He’ll have to send a photographer or two to take pictures of the unique buildings—inspiration for Francis’ designs for next year. 

 

Apparently, Francis, though going to most of the fashion shows as his model-self, requested for some extra photographers to come along to take pictures of the sights for later inspiration, as well as for use of his paper’s writers to give little details about the place each fashion show is being held before going into the main article. Arthur thinks it’s a genius idea, to give the reader a true in-depth experience of the fashion show. Give them a little taste of what it’s like to be going from city to city, country to country. No wonder Jumeau is a rising fashion magazine. 

 

Arthur was jolted out of his thoughts when the limo pulled in front of a vibrant yellow building with black-shuttered windows: The Gran Duca di York, a highly-rated hotel near enough to the center where the show would be held, but far away enough to enjoy Milan without the fashion-week tourists bothering them every day. Francis, of course, would only choose the best for himself and his staff. Speaking of the Frenchman, Arthur looks down the end of the limo, where Francis was nestled between other models who work for Jumeau and laughing and conversing merrily with them. Arthur’s stuck with the photographers as they file out of the limo and into the hotel. He just wishes he could be near Francis, hold his hand, and marvel at the city with him—to see if Francis is just as amazed at the sites they passed by as he is. Perhaps the two of them could sneak off for an hour or so and take in the sites before the true commotion of the show picked up. 

 

Arthur turned to call out to Francis, picking up his pace to reach out and grab the man’s silk turquoise button up, “Francis, do you-“ But the Frenchman was pulled away before he could even touch him. Arthur sighed, prepared to resign himself to his room for the night. He didn’t want to explore Milan on his own—he had done New York that way when he first arrived and hadn’t minded it, but now that he had a- er- now that he was dating someone, he wanted to explore the city with _them_. He’d take the lower man’s road just this once and sulk a little bit. He hadn’t expected Francis to get so wrapped up in Milan Fashion Week so quickly. Arthur didn’t even have any real work to do until the fashion show started. He had written up every photographer’s duty before they left so he and Francis would have time together. He had planned on asking Francis to officially go steady with him. 

 

 _Go steady? Geez, Arthur, you sound like a love-sick teenager._ He shook his head to remove those sappy, somewhat-sad thoughts from his mind. It has really been too long since he’s been together with anyone. 

 

“Arthur, earth to Arthur?” An accented, feminine voice pulled Arthur from his sorrowful thoughts. Could it be? Had Francis returned to spend time with him? He turned around, seeing a glimpse of golden-blonde hair, but met light green eyes instead of crystal blue. 

 

“Ah, Bella, pardon me. I was a bit out of it—jet lag, I think.” Arthur apologized to the Belgium photographer who also worked for Jumeau. They had talked a few times in the office, but mostly about work and the weather. She’s a nice girl, but only a work-acquaintance. “Do you have any questions about your position at the show?” He questioned, unaware of what else she could possibly want. 

 

She giggled—actually _giggled_ \-- at him. He didn’t think he said anything funny at all. “Did I say something funny?” He frowned at her.

 

“Oh, no; I’m sorry, Arthur!” She ceased her giggling, but her eyes were still crinkled in good-humor. “You just always want to talk about work. A few of us from the photography department are going out to eat and see some of the sites. We wanted to know if you would join us?” 

 

That had not been what Arthur was expecting. He never pictured the photography crew to want to be chummy with him, considering he was somewhat of their boss this trip. “Er…” Either he could go out and make friends in the office, or he could sulk in his room while Francis had fun with his model friends. “That sounds lovely. Thank you, Bella.”

 

\--

 

Arthur couldn’t remember the last time he had that much fun, or the last time he had felt a real connection to people, let alone coworkers. He wasn’t exactly the most popular kid in school, and spent most of his prime-socializing time as a teenager as a loner. It was nice to have someone ask him out instead of the other way around. Anyway, the group of photographers reached the hotel after a long night of drinking and exploring the city before the fashion show took away all their free time. Arthur now knew more about his coworkers after this one night than he had over the two months he had been working at Jumeau. Bella’s favorite movie is Never Been Kissed because the whole situation of a reporter going to a school and falling for the teacher is hilarious. Sadiq used to wear a mask that covered his eyes all the time when he was a kid, and Hercules owns seven cats. Seven! 

 

He waved goodbye to his newfound friends as they separated to their respected rooms. Arthur was thankful he received his room key before he started drinking, because he wasn’t sure he’d be able to clearly talk to a receptionist now. Maybe he’d had a little too much to drink; old habits die hard. He ambled through the halls to find his room. Really, it’s not a huge building, it shouldn’t be this hard. The Brit wondered if his friends were having difficulty, too. He thought he was narrowing down the way towards his room when he felt a slender, warm hand gently grasp his elbow. He flinched at the sudden contact and spun around, green eyes wide. 

 

“Arthur!” A smooth voice said his name, the accent it held slipping over his name. “I have been looking for you all night.” 

 

 _Oh my god… I must be dead. An angel is talking to me._ Arthur’s drunken mind had trouble grasping the image in front of him. Hair made of fine rays of sunlight, eyes sparkling waters, flawless skin made of porcelain. “When-when did I die?”

 

The angel laughed at Arthur’s comment. “How much did you have to drink? Or are you really that much of a lightweight?” Arthur crinkled his nose as the angel flicked his nose. Wait? Did the angel call him a lightweight? Over his dead English body!

 

The Brit narrowed his eyes at the angel, the beautiful form starting to shift into a Frenchman whom Arthur remembered he should be mad at for ignoring him earlier. “You’re no angel. You’re Francis. A mean jerk?”

 

Francis raised an eyebrow at this, but retained an amused smile. Arthur’s a show when he’s drunk. “A jerk? How so?”

 

Arthur frowned. He doesn’t like the tone Francis is using—he’s a grow man, not a child! “You ditched me earlier. Ditched me for your fancy pretty friends.” He mumbled, pulling his arm out of Francis’ grasp and crossed his own. “I’ll have you know my mum thinks I’m quite the looker.”

 

“I did not ditch you, cher. I was simply doing my job. I have to keep appearances, you know.” Francis defended himself, but his answer only served to irritate Arthur more.

 

“I get it.” His voice pitched like a whiny toddler. “I’m too ugly and poor for you and your rich friends.” Arthur snapped, turning around to try and head back in the direction of his room.

 

“Arthur!” Uh-oh. Beautiful Francis didn’t sound so happy anymore. Arthur felt hands grab his shoulders before he was spun around. Francis seemed to be trying to keep his emotions in check, but his pretty, angular face shows too much emotion: hurt, irritation, concern, maybe a little anger. The Frenchman lets out a long sigh. “How about we talk about this tomorrow? It is late. We may both say things we regret.” Arthur, even in his drunken stupor, didn’t miss the subtle threat in Francis’ words. He hadn’t meant to make such a perfect man unhappy.

 

“…I’m sorry, gorgeous froggy-Francis.” Arthur apologized, reaching out and pushing the golden strands of hair behind Francis’ ear. The Frenchman seemed to ignore the frog-part of the apology.

 

“It is alright. Now, let us get you to your room. Do you still have your key?” Francis asked, eyebrows furrowed in concern as he watches Arthur go through pocket and pocket until he finally pulled out his keys. Francis took them and looked at the number. “Room twenty-two. You are on the wrong floor, darling.” The Frenchman took Arthur’s hand and started leading him in the right direction.

 

Arthur leaned into the Frenchman and breathed in. How did Francis manage to smell so good? Like roses and chocolate and everything sweet and nice. “How… How do you do it?” Arthur questioned, still walking along with Francis.

 

“Do what, Arthur?”

 

“Be so…so…” Arthur blushed, even in his state realizing he’s embarrassed himself enough. “Never mind. Forget I said anything!” 

 

Francis decided to let Arthur drop the subject, lest it be more drama than their budding romance can handle. Arthur’s grateful for the silence and instead focused on leaning into Francis and enjoying his warmth. 

 

The two finally reached Arthur’s room. By then, Arthur had shifted from irritated drunk to happy, pleasant drunk who only wanted to spend more time with Francis. He touched Francis’ silky hair again and leaned in closer. “Hey, do you, uhm, want to come in?”

 

Francis laughed, but by now Arthur could tell the uncomfortable undertone in it. “Arthur, what kind of girl do you take me for?” He joked, but shook his head. “I will see you tomorrow. Remember to take some medicine for your headache.” With that, Francis unlocked Arthur’s door, gave him a quick kiss on the cheek, and then headed off down the hall. Arthur watched that beautiful behind go away, before heading into his room to pass out on the bed. 

 

\--

 

Arthur saw very little of Francis for the next days before the start of the fashion show. The first day he had been confused as to why it had seen like the Frenchman had been avoiding him, but as the memories from his drunken night returned to him the more horrified he was at his own actions. If only he had the chance to apologize to Francis…

 

The time for Arthur to apologize didn’t come until the end of the Milan trip, on the grand finale of the show. Francis had avoided all of Arthur’s advances until then, but right before the show started Arthur was able to trap him down in Francis’ dressing room. Honestly, Arthur’s grateful that his worrying over his and Francis’ relationship this week hadn’t ruined his work-ethic this week. He didn’t know if he could handle getting dumped _and_ fired on the same day. 

 

The Brit barged into the dressing room without knocking, and was immediately thankful (and, admittedly, a little disappointed) to find Francis in the process of getting his makeup done by an artist instead of getting dressed. “Francis, I need to talk to you.” He ignored the startled look on the man’s face at Arthur’s sudden appearance. 

 

With a quick word to the makeup artist by Francis, the two men were left alone in the room. Arthur felt small compared to Francis, especially when the other man looked so remarkable in his fashion garb and makeup. “Erm…” Arthur coughed into his hand, made more uncomfortable by the unimpressed look Francis was wearing. “I… Remember everything from a few nights ago.” 

 

Either Francis was wearing a heavy load of blush for the show or he was blushing. Arthur couldn’t imagine Francis blushing, so he went with the makeup option. Arthur pressed on, willing his stomach to calm down. “I hope you know I, er, didn’t mean the things I said. About me being ugly and all, of course.” He added to gain some dignity. “And about you being embarrassed of me.” He mumbled. “And for trying to get you into my bed.”

 

Suddenly, Francis was standing in front of Arthur. So close that Arthur could count every lash on the false lashes the Frenchman wore. “Thank you for apologizing, cher. I am sorry if you felt I was ignoring you. I hope you realize now I was only doing my job.”

 

“I do! I never meant to make you feel uncomfortable. I was just drunk.” Arthur said again, just to emphasize how sorry he was over his actions. Francis nodded and puckered his cherry-red lips. 

 

“Apologize kiss?” The Frenchman asked, just as relieved as Arthur to push this incident behind them. 

 

“Of course, dear.” And Arthur pressed their lips together, deciding the scolding the two of them got from the makeup artist for ruining the lipstick was worth it, just to have Francis back in his corner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hate myself more than you hate me for getting this out so late. This chapter isn't my favorite, but I promise it's laying down important drama for one of the big plot ideas I have for this story!


	7. Something More

The Pitti Immagine Uomo fashion show held in Florence, Italy, was quickly coming up. The workers at Jumeau Fashion Magazine barely had the time to recover from Milan, as the magazine’s edition on that fashion show had to be out by the time Francis and the crew left for Florence. Meaning, they had only had a week to finalize the magazine spread and ship it to be printed. Some would say it’s reckless to rush a magazine so quickly, but the fashion show editions are crucial to keeping a newbie newsletter in business. Luckily, the Pitti Immagine Uomo show focuses mostly on Italian designs, so the articles focusing on it would be short and sweet, mentioning the Italian designers but also trying to put more emphasis on the few French designers that would be appearing. 

 

Arthur was relived to find out that Francis would only be attending the show to watch and help his authors take down notes on what they see and not as a model or fashion designer. Arthur is hoping on taking Francis out on a date, considering the time the two have shared has been limited since Milan. However, that’s not to say their relationship had been strained, awkward, or fading since the last major time they shared together was when Arthur had flipped out on Francis; contrarily, the two were often seen sending cute texts when not together or slipping the other little candies or notes when they passed by in the office. Outside the office, occasionally they would grab tea at a nearby café or dinner at a small restaurant, but aside from that, nothing: no overnight stays at one-another’s apartments. 

 

Arthur hoped that things in Milan hadn’t truly ruined things for him and Francis, and they’re on a slow, steady spiral to the end of their relationship. The two really haven’t been together long, so Arthur’s not sure how long Francis holds a grudge, or if he even holds them to begin with. 

 

However, Arthur decided he wouldn’t dwell on his insecurities; they were the ones that got him in trouble in the first place. He still feels like he doesn’t fit-in well enough with Francis’ rich, fashion-forward friends and he doesn’t like how Francis had never introduced him to anyone, but instead of brooding over it, he’s using the limited time they have in Paris for the better: change his negative mindset to a positive one! 

 

Which, leads Arthur to his current situation: glancing at his office door every five-seconds while he scrolls through Amazon looking for self-help books. So far, he’s already added _Fashion for Dummies_ to his shopping cart and is looking for ones on how not to be a hot-headed, jealous buffoon in front of your new love interest/boyfriend/dating partner? Whatever he and Francis are. They still haven’t had that talk and Arthur’s not sure now is the best time for it, anyway. Arthur knew he had to be secretive about his Amazon purchases, not because it meant he wasn’t working hard, oh no, Arthur had finished his workload from Milan yesterday, but because it meant Liz and Bella—the latter of the two now picking up the habit of barging into his office unannounced just as well—would tease him if they found out what he’s buying. And he doesn’t want that. 

 

His door opened and Arthur quickly exited the Amazon tag, his self-help books be dammed. There, standing in the doorway, was Bella.

 

“Haven’t I told you countless times, to _knock_.” Arthur barked, but his tone held no bite to it, and his face was flushed red at almost being caught. No one in the office knew that he and Francis had argued in Italy, and Arthur feared that if anyone saw his purchases and started asking questions, he would spill. Oh boy, Arthur’s teenage-self would be _very_ disappointed at the man Arthur’s become. 

 

Bella only laughed in return, walking over to Arthur, instead of her usual place of either in the chair in front of his desk or worse—on the desk. “Where’s the fun in that? I like catching you off-guard. Much more entertaining.” She chirped, peering over his shoulder and Arthur’s face flushed more, wondering if she had a sixth-sense that allowed her to know what he was searching before she walked in. 

 

If Bella noticed his blush, she chose to ignore it, and grabbed his arm, trying to pull him from his seat. 

 

“What do you think you’re doing?” Arthur barely managed to maintain a yelp threatening to spill from his mouth; Bella’s surprisingly strong, and succeeded in her task of pulling Arthur to his own feet. Arthur’s question was only given a giggle in reply before he was pulled out into the hallway. They passed by the photography studies, went down the elevator and passed the writer’s cubicles, until, finally, they halted in front of a door that read: “Staff Break-Room”. 

 

The Brit isn’t a dumb man but he had no clue what was going to happen as Bella opened the door and—

 

“SURPRISE!” 

 

Arthur was pushed into the breakroom, wide-eyed and confused as to what’s going on. It’s not his birthday, it had been his birthday a month ago (yes, he’s twenty-four now, thank you, but likes to keep his birthday low-key so no one knows about it except his mum). He turned to Bella and asked, “What is this all for?”

 

The Belgium girl just smiled. “I _may_ have looked up your file and found out your birthday had already passed, but today’s the day you created your Instagram account, so I figured it’s good enough.” 

 

_Oh_. That’s really sweet of Bella. Arthur feels his chest tighten with appreciation. No one celebrates his birthday, except his mum, and when Feliciano found out and made him a cake. One could count the numerous times Scott would pull pranks on his birthday as a way to celebrate it, but that’s a stretch. So, the fact that Bella went through all this… 

 

As if reading his mind, Bella said, “I had some help, you know.” She gestured to the back of the break room, where Francis and Bella stood, chatting. 

 

“Ah, I should go say thank-you, if you don’t mind.” He squeezed Bella’s arm as her thank-you, and worked his way to the back of the room. It seemed as nearly the whole office was invited, as Arthur’s fellow photographers gave him slaps on the back and wished him a “Happy Instagram Birthday”, writers he barely knew smiled at him, and the models nodded in his direction. 

 

When he reached Liz and Francis, Liz made a quick good-bye after Arthur thanked her, winking in their direction.

 

Arthur looked at Francis, an eyebrow raised. “What is all of this? I know Bella couldn’t look through the files without you letting her.” They were far away enough from their coworkers that Arthur deemed it safe enough to share that little bit of power in Francis’s position.

 

Francis shrugged, biting his lip to hide his smile. “I was disappointed that I did not do anything for your birthday. In my defense, of course, you never brought it up and I did not want to be… overbearing by surprising you on your birthday.”

 

Looking back, even though they had been only a month into their relationship on Arthur’s actual birthday, April 23rd, Francis had taken Arthur out on his birthday—an authentic British restaurant in an outer arrondissement in Paris. 

 

The Frenchman continued, “The guilt of not doing anything grand for you has been eating me away, so I decided I would through you this party. Of course, I needed some help getting it done, so I recruited Liz and Bella. They are good with secrets.”

 

Arthur smiled and looks down. “Thank you. I don’t think anyone has ever done something so thoughtful for me.”

 

“You deserve it.” Francis takes his hand and squeezes it. “Now, I want you to rejoin the party and have fun. However, I hope you have no plans for tonight, because I want you to come over to my apartment for a homemade dinner. I have a present for you there.” Francis winked and walked away before Arthur could question him, but his face went bright red at the wink. What could Francis possibly have for him, at his own home?

 

\--

 

Arthur was sure Francis was trying to torture him by implying something would happen at his apartment tonight. Or, maybe Arthur just has a dirty mind. Nonetheless, Arthur couldn’t stop thinking about what would happen tonight. He’s actually never been to Francis’s apartment. Truthfully, they don’t go to each other’s homes often: Arthur because he’s somewhat ashamed to still be living in Jumeau employee housing, but he has a few more months he can keep doing that and he’d prefer saving money on rent before moving onto another apartment, and Francis because he prefers to go out and do things instead of stay at his home. 

 

Needless to say, Arthur didn’t get a jump start on his photography plans for Florence. 

 

\--

Francis buzzed Arthur up almost immediately as Arthur called. It made Arthur feel good, at least, that the Frenchman seemed very eager about their date. Francis lives in a nicer part of Paris, very upscale and expensive, and just the architecture of the building had elegance, just like the Jumeau building. 

 

Francis had really outdone himself in the beauty department for the night—his normally flawless skin looked practically blurred: no lines or soft wrinkles in sight; his cheeks glowed, his eyelashes looked long and dark, and his lips were soft and plump. 

 

To further the awe-struck feeling Arthur got whenever he looked at Francis, was his outfit: a loose, but appealing, plum-colored chiffon dress-pant outfit. Something Arthur himself wouldn’t ever be confident enough to wear or would want to wear, but on Francis… 

 

“You look marvelous, Francis.” Arthur murmured, not even thinking twice that maybe his staring is rude.

 

“Merci, Arthur, but are you going to come in?”

 

The Brit nodded numbly before walking in. Slowly gaining his senses back, he looked around the apartment. A super chic, modern living room greeted him. Black and white being the main color theme, but with pillows and other decorations being colorful to add some cheer. Francis led him to the dining room, which was separate from the living room, giving Arthur just an idea of how expensive this apartment must be. The dining room was a little more old-fashioned regal, but bright and cheerful all the same. 

 

“You came just in time.” Francis told Arthur. “I just finished setting all the food out.” 

 

Arthur nodded, mouthwatering at the sight of the good-looking food. He knew Francis could cook but, again, just like everything else, Francis seemed to have outdone himself. Being the gentleman, Arthur pulled Francis’s seat out for him before sitting down. “You didn’t have to go through all this trouble for me. Take-out or a low-key restaurant would’ve been fine.”

 

“Nonsense, this is a special day! Besides, I wanted some privacy.” Francis started to serve himself, so Arthur helped himself as well.

 

“So special? Surely this must be more than my Instagram. I’ve barely used it since joining Jumeau.” Arthur explained.

“You caught me, Arthur. I guess… I am tired of our little game.” Francis explained, face void of emotion, but not unkind. Arthur knew this couldn’t be bad, if Francis had gone all-out for today, but he was still unsure of where this conversation was going. “I would like us to be official: partners.”

 

Arthur hadn’t been expecting that, but a surge of warmth flowed through him. However, he found himself saying: “Even with everything that happened in Milan?”

 

Francis smiled. “I know I am very attractive and charismatic-“ Arthur scoffed and crossed his arms because, _of course_ Francis would think so highly of himself. A true French frog. “-So I understand where you were coming from.”

 

“ _Thank you_ for being so generous.” Arthur replied, but he was smiling. 

 

“What I am saying, cher, is that I am in this for the long-haul. I don’t take partners lightly, not with my big secret.” Francis explained, and Arthur again felt that warmth at being so trusted and liked by Francis. “What do you say?”

 

Arthur, forcing his voice past the emotional lump in his throat, said, “I think I can manage being seen with you in public.” Not that they’d been so secretive about their dating, but his answer got a laugh from Francis. 

 

“Wonderful, now are you ready for dessert?” They’d hardly touched their meals, but Francis stood up and unzipped his suit, and Arthur understood why the Frenchman had chosen something loose. Arthur nearly choked on the piece of food he had put in his mouth.

 

Once he swallowed, he regained his composure and smirked, “But, darling, we’ve barely eaten.”

 

Francis smiled wickedly and pulled him into the bedroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Explanation of this chapter: I looked up England's birthday and I thought it was May 17th (that's Norway's birthday) so I wrote up the chapter to be his surprise birthday party, realized my mistake, and went back and made it his Instagram. Not great, but I wasn't going to waste it! I'll do a Florence next chapter. I wanted something cute and FINALLY make their relationship official. I think this is the last time I'll ever do a "slow" build kind of thing. Also, I changed the rating from M to Teen. At first, I was going to do a smut chapter, but I don't think I will now. 
> 
> Thanks for all the kudos and comments!


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